Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “I hope so. He’s footloose and fancy-free. Yet I know he’s longing to settle down. He told me the other day that dating is very trying at times. Apparently he hasn’t found anyone he’s liked enough to see twice.” Arnold grinned at her. “And I think your sister is a gorgeous bit of stuff.”

  “Gorgeous bit of stuff,” Greta repeated, looking at him aghast.

  He grinned at her. “Well, I suppose you meant it as a compliment,” Greta conceded, laughter surfacing.

  There was a small flurry of excitement as four people came into the room. Greta hurried over to welcome them. The new arrivals were old friends of hers, whom she had known for a very long time. Johanna Newbolt and her husband, Monty, Allegra Thomas and her fiancé, Mark Allenby. Allegra was a columnist on the Sunday Times, and Johanna was an artist she often worked with for their magazine advertising.

  After hugs and kisses, Greta led them across the room to the drinks table; she was followed by Arnold, who helped pour the new guests glasses of wine.

  “Thank you, Arnold,” Greta murmured, and glanced around. The sitting room was filling up. But three people were missing, she realized. Percy Cole, owner of the company who supplied them with their finest fabrics, and a good friend. And also Alicia and the associate producer of her film, Adam Fennell, had not shown up yet, either.

  Victoria came to join her, and said, “Shall I pop downstairs and see how Zoe’s managing?”

  “That would be nice, thank you,” Greta responded. She smiled at Victoria and went on, “You look lovely in the purple dress, that color really brings out the green of your eyes.”

  “Thank you, Greta. It’s my favorite frock. Is there anything special you want me to tell her?”

  “Not really, she knows what she’s doing. Zoe’s a really good caterer, and she brought the two waiters. They’re part of her team. I think you should tell her we must wait for everyone else to get here and have at least one drink before we come down to the buffet. I’m sure she knows that. But it’s always a good idea to go and see her, give her a pat on the back. I think she should also now send up the waiters with the canapés.”

  “Back in a minute.” Victoria hurried out.

  Greta moved around, making sure everyone had a drink, and finally sat down in a chair near the sofa.

  “It’s a lovely gathering,” Charlie said. “I meant to ask Victoria if she’s all set to go and see Christopher Longdon. Do you know what’s happening?”

  “No, I don’t, Charlie. She just popped downstairs to the kitchen to speak to Zoe, but she’ll be back in a minute. Oh, look, here she comes already!”

  Since Elise was still chatting away to Alistair, Victoria made a beeline for them, and took the other chair.

  Charlie asked, “What about the Christopher Longdon story? Have you had any brilliant ideas?”

  “Not really. But it did occur to me that he might agree to go to Biggin Hill, which is where he was based during the war. I thought I ought to get a picture of him with planes. What do you think?”

  “Clever girl,” Charlie exclaimed. “And Noel Jollion was stationed there, too, during the war.”

  “Oh gosh, I remember that,” Victoria exclaimed, and then her breath caught in her throat and she stared at the doorway.

  Alicia had suddenly appeared, looking gorgeous in that fabulous blue dress. Standing next to her was Adam Fennell.

  “Hello, everybody,” Alicia said. “So sorry we’re late.”

  The entire room went quiet and everybody stared at the handsomest couple they had ever seen.

  * * *

  It took Greta only a moment to jump up and go over to them, smiling warmly, kissing Alicia, who then introduced Adam.

  Socially adept, Greta immediately shepherded Alicia and Adam over to meet her girlfriends and their partners. They all seemed awestruck by Alicia’s beauty, and why not? Alicia looked spectacularly glamorous tonight.

  Arnold Templeton joined the group, and after a second of small talk Greta took them across to Alistair and Elise, who were standing nearby. Elise, who had known Alicia for years, was at ease with her and chatted amicably.

  Victoria was suddenly standing beside them, beaming at Alicia. After introducing Adam, Alicia said, “Thank you for your note, Victoria. I’m glad the pictures came out well.”

  “They’re fantastic, Alicia.”

  “I can’t wait to see the magazine,” Alicia answered.

  “Neither can I,” Adam cut in, smiling, his charm in full force.

  “We must go and say hello to my aunt and my brother,” Alicia now announced, wanting to move on.

  Greta, who had just noticed that Percy Cole had come in, excused herself. He had a concerned look on his face, and she knew he was probably worried he was arriving so late.

  Charlie stood up when he saw Alicia and Adam heading down the room. He knew at once that they were already involved, had become a couple. It was written all over his sister’s face. He had not seen her looking so radiant in years. She was positively blooming, and there was a certain glow about her that enhanced her natural beauty. As for Adam Fennell, he looked like a nice chap, and was far younger than Charlie had expected.

  After kissing Alicia’s cheek and shaking Adam’s hand, Charlie said, “I must introduce you to our aunt.”

  Diedre rose at once as the three of them moved toward the sofa. Her smile was warm and loving as she embraced her niece and then took hold of Adam Fennell’s outstretched hand.

  “This is Adam Fennell, Aunt Diedre.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Fennell,” Diedre said.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Diedre,” Adam answered.

  Diedre stepped back, went and sat down on the sofa, where Alicia immediately joined her. “What a nice surprise you’re here,” Alicia said.

  “I asked Charlie to have dinner with me tonight. Will is delayed in Geneva, and I didn’t feel like being alone. He immediately invited me to come here with him.” Diedre chuckled. “I accepted, but I did phone Greta just to be sure it was all right.”

  “Goodness, you know you’re always welcome everywhere, Aunt Diedre.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, but sometimes it’s a question of the guests … whether there’s enough room or not.”

  Alicia nodded and went on, “Adam is the associate producer on my film. He’s been rather kind to me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Diedre answered, looking at Adam Fennell, who stood talking animatedly to Charlie. She had disliked him on sight. There was something about him that she had spotted at once. He was an empty suit. A hollow man. She had noticed how they both looked at each other, hoped Alicia didn’t get seriously involved with him. He spelled trouble. Of that she was absolutely positive. Wait and see, she warned herself. But instinctively she knew she was right. She had been too many years with British Intelligence not to spot trouble.

  Part Four

  STEPPING INTO REALITY

  We have no more right to consume happiness

  without producing it than to consume wealth

  without producing it.

  —George Bernard Shaw, Candida (1898)

  Twenty-four

  Christopher Longdon sat up a little straighter in his chair when the door of his study opened and then closed. Standing there was a girl. A young girl. In a purple wool dress with a matching silk scarf.

  There was only a fraction of hesitation before she walked forward. Her steps were swift, and so light she appeared to float toward him. He took in the cloud of soft brown hair around her face, which was lovely, a perfect heart shape with arched dark brows above the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

  He had not expected a thing of such beauty to arrive here today, and a huge smile spread across his face when she came to a standstill in front of his desk.

  His smile was so infectious she smiled back, stepped to one side of his desk, and thrust out her hand. “I’m Victoria, Mr. Longdon. Hello!”

  “Hello,” he said, smiling again and taking hold
of her hand. As he held it tightly in his for the longest moment, Victoria felt something stir inside her. Her heart leaped. She was drawn to him, and it was a pull she’d never experienced before.

  Realizing he still held her hand, he let it go, and said, “I didn’t expect you … what I mean is, I didn’t expect someone like you.”

  Observing her puzzlement, he explained swiftly, “I thought a photographer of your caliber and obvious talent would be an older woman.”

  Sudden laughter bubbled up in his throat. He couldn’t help it, he let the laughter out. “I suppose I imagined an older, sterner, tougher woman. Oh, I don’t know…” He shook his head. “Aren’t we humans strange? Always having preconceived ideas about people … making judgments without knowing very much.”

  Victoria, who had laughed with him, nodded, then said, “Shall I sit down in the chair? It would be easier to do the interview.”

  “I am being so rude, and of course you should sit down. Would you like coffee or tea? Water? Can I get you any refreshment?”

  “No, thank you. The man who showed me in, Rory, asked me when I arrived, and I told him I was fine.”

  Very fine indeed, Christopher thought. He said, “Melinda sent me a number of tear sheets of your shoots, and I understood at once that you have a wonderful imagination. Your photographs are daring and unique. God knows what you’re going to do with me.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his dark brown eyes. “I’m hardly a candidate for some eye-catching pictures, swinging from a chandelier.”

  “I can’t really agree with you there, Mr. Longdon—”

  “Please call me Christopher, and I shall call you Victoria, if I may,” he announced, cutting across her.

  “Of course. My close friends call me Vicki—” She stopped abruptly, not certain why she had confided this.

  “I rather like Victoria,” he murmured, and glanced down, shuffling several papers on his desk, wondering if he was actually flirting with her. No, that wasn’t possible. He hadn’t done that for years. Why? Because he hadn’t wanted to encourage any woman to take an interest in him.

  Breaking the silence, Christopher asked, “How long have you been a photographer?”

  “Since I was eleven,” Victoria replied, a small amused smile playing around her mouth, her green eyes twinkling.

  “Oh my goodness, are we still in the days of Charles Dickens? The days of child labor? Surely not.” He raised a brow, smiling at her, enjoying her.

  “I grew up on Charles Dickens,” she responded. “This is what happened. Someone gave me a Kodak camera as a present when I was eleven, and I discovered I loved taking pictures. Then a well-known photographer taught me everything she knew. She even got me a job in London.”

  “That was nice of her. Would I know of her?”

  “Actually, you would. Her name is Paloma Glendenning, and since you love gardens I’m sure you’ve seen her nature and garden books.”

  “I have indeed, and they are marvelous.” He looked across his desk at her, smiled yet again. “And how did you meet Paloma?”

  “It’s a bit of a long story, Mr. Longdon. I’m not sure you’d want to hear it.”

  “Christopher. I do want to hear it.” And I want to know all about you, he thought. Once again, he mentally chastised himself for being so interested in her; he had only just met her and she looked barely twenty, if that.

  “All right then, Christopher, I shall tell you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I won’t. So, come on, I love a good story.”

  “I’m not sure it’s good, but it’s certainly true. I was an evacuee during the war. You see, my school in Leeds decided their girls should go and live in the countryside in Yorkshire. Safer. And far away from the big cities going to be bombed. I went to live in Little Skell village with Mr. and Mrs. Walter Swann. Their son, Harry, was married to Paloma Glendenning, the daughter of the famous actor Edward Glendenning. Harry was in the RAF during the war.”

  Pausing for a moment, clearing her throat, she then continued, “Paloma had time to teach me about photography. I took a lot of pictures of their first baby, and, as I grew older, I helped her with her own work. At the end of the war, Mrs. Swann went to see the people at the Pied Piper Organization, and she discovered that my mother and grandmother had both died. So had my father, who was in the Merchant Navy on the Russian convoys. He went down with his ship.”

  Christopher leaned forward over the desk, his face full of sympathy when he said, with genuine sincerity, “I’m so sorry you lost your father, your parents, actually, and your grandmother as well. That was such a deadly war, but then all wars are deadly.”

  “Thank you. They adopted me, Mrs. Alice and Mr. Walter, and I’ve called them aunt and uncle ever since. That made me very happy … to become a part of their family.”

  “And also them, I’m perfectly certain of that. So you grew up at Cavendon, then?”

  “I did. Have you been there?”

  “No, but a friend of mine lives close by. Noel Jollion. Do you know him by any chance?”

  “Not very well. He was at Biggin Hill with you, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s right. How do you know that?”

  “Charlie Stanton told me. He’s a friend of Noel’s.” A wide smile spread across her face and eagerly she said, “I did think of asking you to be photographed there. Would you mind going back to Biggin Hill?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “I know the sort of pictures I want, and which Melinda wants. I will have to put you with planes around you. I need the right mood. After all, you are Britain’s greatest war hero.”

  “Please, Victoria. I wasn’t the only one. There were many other very courageous young men fighting that war—”

  Christopher broke off as the door opened. Dora, the housekeeper, came into the room, excusing herself for interrupting. “Lunch is served, Mr. Christopher.”

  For a moment he gaped at her, then looked at his watch. It was already twelve-thirty. What had happened to the time? He stared at Victoria.

  “Will you have lunch with me? Please.”

  “I will.”

  “Please set another place, Dora.”

  “I already did, Mr. Christopher.”

  He looked at Victoria, and they both laughed, and he wheeled himself around the desk.

  She did not try to help him in any way. Instinct told her he would resent it.

  * * *

  Victoria noticed immediately how beautiful the dining room was. It was a medium-sized room with a fireplace, but the instant, eye-catching image was of a glorious garden of vivid flowers set against a silver background that was plain silver above the flowers, all the way to the ceiling.

  Since he hardly took his eyes off her, Christopher noticed at once the look of pleasure and surprise on her face. He said, “It’s silver wallpaper. I designed the flower garden myself, and had the paper custom-made. I see that you like it.”

  “It’s beautiful. I know how much you are involved with gardens and landscaping. Melinda told me you have a unique garden here. What a pity it’s October now.”

  “It isn’t in full bloom, that’s true, but we can go outside later. The trees are turning, glowing red and gold. You might get one shot out there.”

  Christopher was sitting at the head of the table; Dora had put her next to him on his right. Now he turned to her, and said, “It’s minestrone first, and then fish cakes. If you would prefer something else, Dora is bound to have other dishes—”

  “Oh no,” Victoria interjected. “I love soup. In fact, I enjoy making soups, and fish cakes are also a favorite. I don’t really like food which is too … fancy.”

  He grinned at her. “Then we are alike in that.” He paused for a moment, studying her. “Do you write the story as well as take the pictures?”

  “No, I don’t. Shane Parker will be interviewing you. Oh, I see what you’re getting at, Christopher. I mentioned the word ‘interview’ earlier, and I should have said ‘talk’ t
o you. You see, Melinda prefers me to do the photography first. Then the art director makes a rough layout. Once Melinda’s satisfied about the ‘look,’ as she calls it, the interview goes ahead.”

  “I understand. You said ‘layout,’ which indicates a lot of photographs?” A dark brow shot up questioningly. “I’m not your best subject matter, you know that.”

  Victoria was about to disagree, when Dora came in with a tray and put it down on a serving table. She brought a bowl of soup to Victoria, and then Christopher, and hurried away.

  Victoria said, “I think I can get several good photographs here in the house. In your study, for instance, dressed casually as you are now. You’re right about the garden and the leaves turning, that could be colorful. And I hope to take two or three photographs at Biggin Hill.”

  She gazed at him, half smiling, thinking that he was a nice-looking man, with large brown eyes, set wide apart, a broad brow, and a cleft in his chin. It was a strong, masculine face, and there was kindness there … in his eyes. Yes, that was it. His brown eyes were … warm, loving.

  “You’re staring at me, Victoria. Do I have a dirty mark on my face?” He asked this in a teasing voice, amused. He grinned at her.

  She chuckled. “I’m afraid that’s a photographer’s worst habit, staring at people, especially those they are going to photograph. I was just picturing you in your RAF uniform. Would you be prepared to wear it?”

  “That’s not a problem. I could also wear my flying suit as well, down at Biggin Hill. That’s what we all wore in the war.”

  * * *

  When they had finished lunch, Victoria asked Christopher if they could go back to the study and he agreed. To her, this was an extremely personal room, with many photographs of him with his flying bods as he called them, and the medals he had been awarded.

  She stared for a long time at the photograph of him with King George VI and Winston Churchill at Buckingham Palace, when he received the Distinguished Flying Cross. Then she moved on to view the other memorabilia. She made a mental note of the hundreds of books on the shelves, decided that this room told its own very special story about this remarkable man.